The Rest of the Rest of the Story
by Sendai
Summary: This is the conclusion to the pirate!lock fic, The Rest of the Story, but it could stand alone so you don't have to read the parent fic. Sherlock has determined that it is time to confront John about their repressed feelings but he (briefly) faces some rough seas first. I'm terrible at summaries. Try this anyway if you like Johnlock. Rated M just in case, and edited as of 9/28 :D


**A new Author's Note** **—This is the NEWLY EDITED version of The Rest of the Rest of the Story, thanks to the corrections offered by my very talented beta, Old Ping Hai (whose stories many of you have read and enjoyed…wait, you! You over there! You** _ **haven't**_ **read any of Ping's stories? Well, you are missing some real treats. I'd advise you to go at once to read them. All of them. Bring a snack and your favorite beverage because you won't want to stop reading once you start. Some of the stories are really funny, so you might not want to be drinking a hot beverage while actually reading.)**

 **The point is, this is just The Rest of the Rest of the Story (part one) (now edited), and nothing has changed aside from fixing a few typos etc.**

P.S. I am working on part two even as we speak. Well, we aren't really speaking, but you catch my drift, right? So…Part Two will hopefully be up within the week, hopefully. (And I promise to also complete Leprechaun soon…as soon as possible…look I'm really trying here…Work is really taking up a lot of my writing time, but they won't actually pay me unless I show up for work, so…Yeah.)

 **Old Author's Note that explains where The Rest of the Rest of the Story came from—** This is meant to be the conclusion to my pirate fic 'The Rest of the Story', which in turn is based on chapter 18 (The One or the Other) from Deck the Hall With Awesome Challenges (I know, it's very confusing and I should consolidate them all.) (Also, I truly regret that it's taken me so long to complete the rest of this story). However, this short fic could easily be read as a standalone, so if you haven't read 'The Rest of the Story' and if you don't want to read 'The Rest of the Story', well, you don't have to read the rest of that story.

If you didn't read either The One or the Other or The Rest of the Story, all you really need to know is that that Sherlock is a pirate and captain of the Hound. John is his best friend and the ship's physician and surgeon. In the my previous works Sherlock was imprisoned. John rescued him and got injured. Sherlock then rescued John. The story takes place during the Napoleonic Wars (I had also said that this takes place towards the end of the 18th century which was an error—my error—for which I apologize.)

I'm afraid that I rushed this fic to publication. Partly because I suddenly thought of an ending to this story (after many months of writer's block where this story is concerned) and because today is International Talk Like A Pirate Day. Anyway, I decided that I had to publish this immediately, but now (as noted above) it's edited, thanks to Old Ping Hai. I'm still responsible for any remaining errors.

Now, for the **Rest of the Rest of the Story (part one)**

John Watson, of the dread pirate ship, the Hound, marched stiffly over towards his captain. His limp, the result of a run-in with Colonel Moran's sword, was barely noticeable now. Of course Captain Holmes noticed it; he noticed everything. He especially noticed anything that pertained to his particular friend.

When the good doctor had been wounded, Captain Holmes had greatly feared for his friend's life. In fact, Watson had nearly lost his limb to an incompetent sawbones, by the name of Frankland. Doctor Watson had roused himself from his feverish delirium just long enough to draw a knife on the other surgeon. After much cursing and many dire threats, Dr. Watson had been removed to the Hound. When lucid, the good doctor delivered orders for his own care, which was administered by his captain and certain of their shipmates.

Frankland and other supposedly competent practitioners predicted Watson's quick demise from gangrene or blood poisoning. Howsomever, John Watson was tougher than the Devil himself and twice as stubborn, and he managed to cheat death and preserve his limb against all odds. Naturally, all the sailors on the Hound felt that their doctor was now a miracle worker. John Watson could prevent his own certain death; surely he could prevent the death of any of his shipmates. Indeed, Captain Holmes had seen more than one of his crew recover at the mere sight of Watson's kind face and gentle voice.

Sadly, Watson was not currently wearing his kindly physician's face. No, the short, blond doctor was sailing toward Holmes with a grim scowl lining his face.

Holmes sighed. Who would have thought that planning a brief holiday for his best friend would upset his doctor and his ship's lucky talisman?

"Holmes, what is the meaning of this?" demanded Watson, using his soldier's voice.

"The meaning of what, my dear fellow?" asked Sherlock Holmes, rocking back and forth in his uncomfortable boots. Like any common sailor, Holmes preferred to keep his feet bare, except when in port. The perfectly fitted, Italian leather boots had cost a pretty penny, but they still chafed Holmes's feet.

"You know the meaning of what!" barked John Watson.

"Watson, you do realize that I am not a mind-reader?"

The doctor scoffed derisively.

"And that is hardly the right tone to take with your captain," said Holmes mildly, as the pair ambled up the dusty main street of Santiago, forgoing the wooden walkways, which were crowded with townsfolk.

"I can take any tone that I want when we're on land. According to common usage and maritime law, your authority over me doesn't extend to land."

"Bah, common usage. What does that even mean?" scoffed the pirate captain. "And I'm sure you are quite mistaken about maritime law, as usual, which in any case is meaningless to me. Or have you forgotten that you travel with pirates, and pirates do not follow laws, maritime or otherwise?"

"And bah to you and to all pirates," said John. "I will not stand for it, Holmes. I can see exactly what this is about."

"Can you?" asked the captain, slightly intrigued and also a bit concerned. He had not thought that John would see through his ruse so quickly. John was not always the most observant of men. (In the privacy of his mind palace, Captain Holmes called his ship's doctor by his Christian name).

"Yes, I can," asserted John Watson. "And I will not be abandoned in Santiago while you and the others go off to confront that cursed Moriarty. You cannot leave me here..."

Sherlock Holmes smirked. His good friend had most emphatically not seen through his ruse and had characteristically misinterpreted everything.

Holmes swallowed a chuckle, he by no means wished to completely alienate his best friend tonight. Still, he couldn't resist a bit of Watson-baiting as they walked out of the town proper, heading towards one of Mycroft's safe houses.

"My dear doctor, if I chose to leave you on Hispaniola, there is little that you could do about it."

"You'd be a fool to leave me behind, Captain. What if someone becomes injured when you battle Moriarty's Magpie!" argued John Watson. "That's assuming that your men will even fight, without that I'm onboard. You know the Hound's crew will want their doctor to hand if they're injured when you fight Moriarty."

"I'm not planning to fight Moriarty—at least not in the near term."

"So you say. And before you abandon me here, let me remind you that the Hound's crew find me a bit lucky."

"I know that they consider you their lucky talisman."

"No, not a talisman."

"Yes. They call you their lucky hedgehog."

Captain Holmes could barely see Watson's furious, glittering blue eyes from under his fierce glare. "I'm quite certain that no one calls me a…a...hedgerow creature. And if I ever did hear someone call me a hedgehog, I would call him out!"*

"I have called you my lucky hedgehog more than once. Will you now challenge me to a duel?"

The former army medical officer stood in the middle of the road clenching and unclenching his fists; finally John spat, "I hate you!" He avoided the challenge altogether by stomping down the road, passing in and out of the shade cast by tall tropical trees. The former soldier apparently thought of what he considered a good response. He pivoted back toward the lanky buccaneer, shaking his finger accusingly. "You have no right to coddle me and keep me away from Moriarty. I have just as much right to face him as you do."

"As your friend and captain, I certainly do have the right to protect you from Captain Moriarty, should I choose to do so. That mad man has singled you out for death to repay me for the death of his puppet."

"And I can defend myself," continued Dr. Watson. "I'm hardly helpless. As I recall, I was the one who rescued _you_ from the gallows."

"Yes, John, and you nearly died in the process."

"No..."

"Yes. But you are not listening. As usual you have missed all the important clues. In fact this time, you've missed almost everything. Now come along, or we shall be late for supper, and you know how cranky you get when you miss a meal."

John rolled his eyes and sighed, he also began to follow the tall brunet who had passed right by him.

"I don't get cranky, and I don't understand what you're on about."

"Doctor Watson, if I intended to abandon you here, so that I could track down Moriarty, as you suggest," said Holmes, "then please tell me, what am I doing here on the island with you?"

John Watson stopped his furious marching and narrowed his eyes again.

"Well...you could be lulling me into a false sense of security. Perhaps you think to get me drunk tonight. _THEN,_ you'll abandon..."

"No, John. That's ridiculous," said the dread pirate, Captain Holmes. He took a hold of the doctor's elbow, leading him down the road, past a few fallow fields, and then back into some shade. "There is no nefarious plot, doctor. We are here to see you get some rest. You've not been yourself, Watson, not since that bloody Moran attacked you. You work too much. You push yourself too hard."

"Me? Look who's calling the kettle black."

"Very well, Dr. Watson, have it your way. We have _both_ been pushing ourselves too hard, and I wish to see you rest..." The good doctor glowered. "...I wish to see _us both_ partake of some rest and relaxation for a few days, while the crew also take some much deserved shore-leave."

"What, is this some kind of holiday?"

Sherlock Holmes blinked. "That's _exactly_ what this is. I told you before we came ashore that we were taking a brief holiday. I told you that we would be staying alone at one of Mycroft's homes. It's not much more than a fishing shack, too small to even be considered a hunting lodge, but it should suit my purpose nicely."

John eyed his captain suspiciously, "And your purpose is..." The doctor paused to twist his mouth around words which he clearly mistrusted. "Your purpose is...a holiday? Umm, I don't understand," said John.

Holmes continued his ground-eating strides, forcing John to scurry every once in a while to keep up with his long-legged companion.

"No, really, I don't understand," John reiterated. "You don't like holidays. You hate holidays. You said that you hate holidays, because they're dull and boring and..."

"I want this holiday," snapped the captain. "We will spend three days resting. You will fish off the dock. I will collect some specimens of the local fauna including the White Ibis and parrots, particularly the Hispaniolan parakeet."

"Why, did someone commit a crime using a parrot?"

"Don't be idiotic," snapped Holmes. He was frustrated that his friend wouldn't trust him. He was worried that his plan would blow up in his face. He began to doubt that John Watson was as infatuated with him as he suspected. "I like birds."

"No, you don't," said Dr. Watson confidently.

They walked further, as the calls of crickets and other reptiles* became increasingly loud.

"I'll wager that the birds have something to do with that business with Mortimer and Knight," announced John, wearing a proud smirk.

"Haven't you lost enough money with your wagering, Doctor?"

The doctor's smirk dissolved into his angry hedgehog glare.

They marched in silence for the next fifteen minutes.

"I was right, wasn't I?" demanded John. "I was right, and you can't stand for me to be right, so you brought up my recent losses at the table. Now, weren't there some mysterious feathers on Sir Henry's desk?"

"Yes, John. Well done. You finally realized the significance of the feathers—three weeks late—but nevertheless, you did manage to see the obvious, eventually."

"There's no need for you to get short with me, Captain," said Watson, his good humor restored. "I never claimed to be a genius... ... ...Oh! Oh! Is that the fishing shack?"

"Indeed," said Holmes. "That is the poorly named, Elysium. And although it lacks certain niceties, it is private. We shall be strictly alone for the next several days."

"What about our clothes and..."

"I had Anderson bring the jollyboat and deliver our kits before embarking on their three days of dull debauchery. There should be adequate provisions, and of course I'm sure you'll be catching many and many a fish before our holiday is over."

"Yes, but...but..." stuttered John as the climbed up onto a wooden veranda. "But this is lovely. It's like that thing, that Hazinenda thing."

"Hacienda, John."

"Yes. That," said John following Sherlock into the small, clean, wood-paneled entry hall. "I can't believe you called this a hovel. It's truly…lovely. Look, there's even a library."

"It's Mycroft's study, and a few shelves of books do not constitute a library."

"They do where I grew up," said John. Then he began calling out, "Hello! Hello! Um, Hola? Hola!"

Sherlock smirked. "John, I told you that we would be strictly alone."

"No servants?"

"None," the captain walked closer to the excited doctor.

"No cabin boys? No maids? No cooks?"

"No one," said Holmes.

John Watson flushed and then paled, backing away.

"Do you want to see the rest of the house?" asked Sherlock Holmes, even as his smile faded in the face of John's obvious consternation.

"Do I have a room. I...I might want to wash up. I need some time, alone."

"Alone?" Sherlock sighed. This holiday was facing rough seas, very rough seas. He led the doctor to his room so that John Watson could spend some time alone.

 **A/N**

* **To call someone out:** to challenge someone to a duel.

 ***Reptiles:** During the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries the term reptiles included all creepy, crawly creatures such as snakes, worms, insects etc.

Thank you for reading this fic. I hope to post part two within the week.

Please consider leaving a review. I would be most grateful.

 **Disclaimer** I do not own the rights to Sherlock.


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